Let's talk turkey.

For some reason, Benjamin Franklin keeps coming up at our house. Karen informed me the other day that Franklin was a "polymath," and last night during a trivia game, Houston was asked who invented bifocals.

Today, Anu from A.W.A.D. quoted an article about what happens when the suburbs encroach on the turkey habitat...and how suburbanite McMansion residents would rather see wild turkeys "on platters instead of porches."

The article (Complete with photos! Check it out!) also mentions how crafty they are...and how the "ubiquitous turkeys" never seem to show up on the days the environmental officers try to round them up...which reminded me how Ben Franklin lauded the wild turkey for its resourcefulness and would love to have seen it made our national bird.

Karen and Mom tell hilarious stories about the turkeys Dad used to raise and how one particularly aggressive tom turkey attacked the Asplundh guy (electric company guy?)...well, SOME guy who came onto our property uninvited. The only person that turkey feared was Dad, probably because he knew Dad was armed. Karen and Mom could only get to their cars safely with the help of a HUGE red-and-white-striped golf umbrella they would open and close furiously and repeatedly on the way to and from the house!

Good times, good times. (Glad I was in Texas for the Turkey Trot Days...)

P.S. This article is SERIOUSLY good. You will love it! Here's a snippet of Clara Germani's terrific piece:

Reverie over what Ben Franklin wanted to be the national bird is, in fact, common. James Earl Kennamer, of the National Wild Turkey Federation, says: "A turkey at his magnificent self" - in full iridescent strut and drumming (an explosively loud release of air) - is so surprisingly splendid that even veteran big game hunters are rendered "literally unable to shoot." The birds are also remarkably fast: To capture them with net guns, for example, authorities have to use Howitzer rocket powder rather than gunpowder, which allows them to launch the nets at 450 feet per second.